


Royal

by searwrites (sears)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Minor Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 12:18:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12211143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sears/pseuds/searwrites
Summary: There's a photo from JJ on his feed, freshly showered with a view of his bathroom mirror, nothing but a towel around his waist. 'Getting ready for the kitten' it says, prompting an eye-roll. Yuri still presses the little heart regardless.





	Royal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ouroboros](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ouroboros/gifts).



Yuri slumps off of the plane in Toronto after almost a full day of travel, legs stiff and sore. Seven hours in Amsterdam, and three in Montreal. Schiphol is big, but not big enough to make several trips power walking the length of it any less dull than it sounds. Viktor told him he should leave the airport for a few hours, walk the canals, but Yuri has been too keyed up since the evening before the flight, nerves buzzing with anticipatory excitement. The purpose of sightseeing would have been completely lost on him.  
  
  
He finds himself thankful JJ isn't meeting him at the airport, doesn't think he'd be able to express any real emotion in front of so many other people. It's the first trip he's made to this province that isn't for skating, and it makes him feel out of place-- like he needs the ice, somehow able to stand more steadily on it. Sounds stupid, and he knows it, which is why, yeah-- he's glad he isn't here.  
  
The taxi takes him outside of the city, passing the many mounds of browning snow shoved haphazardly to the sides of the road. The driver doesn't try to make small talk, thankfully, which leaves Yuri alone to take in the view of the damp, grey buildings thinning out into open spreads of grass, or what's left of it beneath the melting snow. He spends the rest of his time on his phone, scrolling through Instagram. There's a photo from JJ on his feed, freshly showered with a view of his bathroom mirror, nothing but a towel around his waist. 'Getting ready for the kitten' it says, prompting an eye-roll. Yuri still presses the little heart regardless.  
  
When the taxi pulls up JJ's long, winding drive, JJ is standing outside like an idiot in nothing but jeans and a short sleeved t-shirt, hands in his pockets and excitedly bouncing on the balls of his feet. His grin is ridiculous, so unabashed and full of bright white teeth. Yuri feels embarrassed for him, his own face burning as he hands over the plastic, toy-like cash to the driver. He refuses to notice whether or not the driver is looking at them or not before he leaves.  
  
Yuri lets himself be pulled into a crushing hug, JJ's nose immediately finding the crown of his head.  
  
"God, you smell so fucking good."  
  
There's no way, Yuri thinks, after a day without showering, half-matted hair pressed into seats that probably haven't been washed in weeks.  
  
"And you smell like cheap cologne," he grumbles in response.  
  
JJ laughs, all bright and whimsical, the almost goofy way he does when he knows nobody he doesn't trust is watching.  
  
His cabin is ridiculous and ostentatious in a way that only JJ could ever pull off. Gigantic fur rugs, animal print everywhere, stone set deep into wood walls and all amber lighting. In the place of art, he has tacky motivational words posted in all manner of designs across his walls. 'The comeback is is stronger than the setback' one of them states, and while Yuri's reaction is to scoff, he gets the meaning behind it, particularly how it might mean even more to JJ than to anyone else he knows. 

Apart from that, there's not much else to take in. It's less flamboyant than Yuri had expected, not like he hasn't seen bits of it on Skype, but it's comfortable. Feels like a home.  
  
"This is your room," JJ announces, dragging Yuri's suitcase to the end of the bed after a brief tour of the house.  
  
The bed is so obviously JJ's-- far too many pillows and fluff. It looks so comfortable Yuri aches with an exhaustion he'd forced himself to ignore on the plane. It smells like JJ in here too-- cologne that smells cheap but costs a small fortune, lingering tea tree shampoo from the bathroom he was using before taking that photograph, and that distinctly JJ scent-- the same one Yuri can taste when they kiss.  
  
"You can nap if you want, kitten," JJ mumbles against his neck, one hand tangled in his hair to lift it out of his way, standing pressed to his back. He wraps his arms around Yuri's waist, and it feels nice to allow it this time.  
  
"Do not call me that," Yuri grumbles. It sounds too fond, too encouraging. Everything about being around JJ brings out the worst in him. Viktor says it makes him seem human.  
  
JJ bites playfully at his earlobe. "Yes, my queen."  
  
Yuri had hoped the royalty schtick would be a cloak that was shed once off the ice, but he finds he is sorely mistaken when he pads into JJ's bathroom for a shower after a much needed nap. There are two towels, one that has obviously already been used, embroidered with a looping script, and another folded neatly with a washcloth on top, the creases evidence of it being newly purchased.  
  
The one hanging over the shower door says 'king', while the one waiting on the counter says 'queen'. Yuri scowls and makes sure to use the king towel after he's clean, allowing his nose to linger in the plushness of it when drying his face, recognizing JJ's scent again.  
  
JJ stops in the middle of stir frying something that looks at least moderately healthy to turn and kiss the curve of Yuri's jaw. His hair is damp and eyes feel swollen, his entire body aching from dehydration. He always forgets to drink water on flights, never likes having to climb over people to use the bathroom. The result is this almost lifeless pallor to his skin, but JJ looks at him like he's never looked more beautiful. Its almost annoying, the way he does that. Even when Yuri flicks him off he practically swoons.  
  
He kisses Yuri's temple when he serves him food and places the warm, soft underside of his foot on top of Yuri's beneath the table, and it kills Yuri to admit it but it's just... nice to be treated like this. Like a princess, almost. Or a queen.  
  
It's barely evening here, but in Russia it's far too early in the morning to be awake, and while the nap was good, it's not nearly enough to compensate for his lack of sleep. Yuri tugs him to the bed after eating, blaming the way he whines and gets grabby on his exhaustion. JJ loves it when he's like this, can't stop smiling down at him kissing his face and cooing that he'll make it all better, don't worry babe, i'll take care of you.  
  
"Been dreaming of you," JJ mumbles into his neck once they've fumbled down onto the bed, thick cotton sheets bunch up down at their feet  
  
"You have not," Yuri replies, because he's never lucky enough to dream about them, has to always think about it himself in the daytime. In his head they have a high end flat on Krestovsky Island, or somewhere equally lush, and Potya has her own cat-sized four poster bed that matches his and JJ's.  
  
"All the time, I do," JJ grumbles, hands fumbling to undo the laces of Yuri's sweatpants. "I hate it."  
  
Yuri frowns up at the ceiling. "Why?"  
  
"Never as good," JJ says, wriggling around on his lap until Yuri's cock is nestled nicely into the crease of his ass. "Why read the bible when I've got heaven right here?"  
  
The tickle of the golden cross dangling from JJ's neck against his collar when he dips down for another kiss feels almost ironic. 

"You are the absolute worst human being."  
  
JJ grins, that wide, genuine one that shows off the points of his teeth, wrinkling his nose a little.  
  
"You love it," he breathes, mouth hovering over Yuri's, before gasping as he rocks his hips to press Yuri inside of him.  
  
And fuck-- maybe he does. Maybe being gifted queen-themed toiletries and being wined and dined is something he actually likes. Maybe his awful taste in music and his gaudy tattoos are actually what make him interesting. There are parts of JJ that remind him of Russia, in a way. The soft clink of tacky gold jewelry, the lean but toned muscle, the way he leans back while he rides him, deliberately tightening his abs to put on a bit of a show. Yuri can't really explain why-- might be the slightly dated arrogance of it all, or maybe it's just starting to feel familiar now, like his home could be a person instead of a place.  
  
Yuri pushes his palm into JJ's stomach, fucks into him deep enough to feel the faint outline of himself through it and throws his head back on a groan.  
  
Yes, okay. Maybe it hurts to admit, but this has to be good for him. It wouldn't feel this way if it wasn't.  
  
Later, JJ hops back onto the bed and presses wet, smacking kisses all over Yuri's face like an overeager puppy once he's cleaned himself up. Yuri still smells like sex and sweat, but a second wave of travel-induced exhaustion is coming over him and it feels like an effort to even shove weakly at JJ's stupid face.  
  
"Get off me."  
  
JJ licks his cheek. "No," he says.  
  
They tussle until Yuri goes limp like a wet noodle in defeat and JJ puts the full weight of his body on him. He's still grinning like an idiot, so Yuri reaches up and uses each of his forefingers to tug the corners of JJ's mouth down into a forced and silly looking frown.  
  
"Your face is too loud," Yuri says, and JJ barks a laugh.  
  
"I don't think that means what you think it does."  
  
"It means whatever I mean it to mean."  
  
"Lot of 'mean's there, babe."  
  
If asked, Yuri would blame the resulting lazy grin on the delirium that comes from sleep deprivation. Not on the way every time JJ calls him babe, even kitten, his heart trips a little. It's an informal affection he was rarely awarded as a child, almost every adult in his life having expected nothing but the utmost professionalism from him. JJ makes him feel stupid-- makes him feel like he can act stupid-- and after the year he's had its such a welcome reprieve.  
  
The ice on the lake behind JJ's cabin is melting, too soft to even think about skating on, so they take a trip down to the local rundown rink in the nearby town. It's a small thing that looks like it hasn't been updated since the 1970s. Everything is wood trim and yellowed walls, a small arcade off to the corner that only has about three machines in it.  
  
Once on the ice, Yuri allows JJ to lift him, playfully mimicking the moves they never get much of a chance to play around with as soloists. By the end of it Yuri's shoulders ache and his muscles feel well-worn but a little more alive than they did after his stint at the airport. When Yuri flops his booted foot on JJ's lap with a pout, there's no hesitation for JJ to unlace it for him. He's good like that-- barely ever need to ask.  
  
At night JJ massages his feet while they watch some awful reality show, one that JJ is far too interested in. Yuri is even wearing his extra tight shorts, the ones that he knows make his legs go on forever, but JJ is too caught up in the manufactured drama to really pay all that much attention. It bugs him. He's almost never not had JJ's full attention, so he begins to prod at JJ's hip with his foot instead of sitting nicely.  
  
JJ swats his heel without looking and Yuri has to push away the fleeting idea that someday JJ will get bored of him. Most men only give Yuri the time of day for the chase. Once he's caught, it's never as fun for them. The reality of Yuri is far less alluring than the illusion, he knows this well by now. He's a young man with a penchant for online shopping and watching cat videos on his phone between practice-- not exactly as much of a party animal as he's made out to be now he's a little older. Not like the concerts JJ goes to, or the after parties he always whines at Yuri for avoiding.  
  
Getting sick of the lack of attention, Yuri decides to take matters into his own hands. He shifts his foot and presses it into the soft bulge of JJ's cock, lifting a single, pointed eyebrow when JJ flinches and gapes at him. He deliberately drags his foot up, then down, not breaking eye contact, so there's no mistaking his intentions. JJ surges forward once he's hard and starting to push into it, but Yuri stops him by removing his foot and pressing it to his sternum when he tries to climb him. JJ leans back and takes it then, sprawling as much as he can on the couch facing sideways, with this beautifully vulnerable expression.  
  
Yuri keeps stroking him with his foot, toes molding around the curve of his cock, until JJ can't seem to take anymore and grips him hard around the ankle to get him to stop.  
  
JJ can't seem to take his mouth off of Yuri as they stumble back to the bedroom, which means he almost trips a few times along the way, although it reintroduces to Yuri the utter joy of laughing into wet, hungry kisses. Funny how a thing so simple can be so delightful.   
  
JJ's hips are bonier than they look, digging into the underside of Yuri's thighs as he balances himself with one open hand on JJ's chest, the other keeping JJ inside of him as he pushes down.  
  
"Fuck, babe," JJ breathes, like he's not even really speaking words, more exhaling pleasure. He keeps trying to tuck Yuri's hair behind his ear, hold it back from his face-- but while Yuri's hair is soft, it's almost as stubborn as he is, and it keeps cascading back down. It's nice like this anyways, more intimate, like a curtain keeping the moment private. JJ gives up and settles for holding his face instead, allowing Yuri to take full control, the slow fuck of his hips down intended to be a little bit like torture.  
  
"Wish you could stay," JJ says later, after pressing sucking kisses to Yuri's throat, the both of them spent. They're pressed so close their stomachs stick together, still filthy with come. "You'd love it here, I'd take good care of you, promise."  
  
Yuri huffs, as if he needs taking care of, and then suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, remembers the towel. He swats JJ's shoulder, says, "Why the fuck do i have to be the queen and you the king?"  
  
JJ grins, mouth tilting into a leering smirk. "I'll take it if you want." He bites the curve of Yuri's jaw. Never hard or stinging, just enough to keep Yuri from dozing off. He seems to like the little nips of pain, moaning the loudest anytime Yuri dug his nails into his chest while he rode him. "You can be my king."  
  
The idea is nice, in a weird sort of way, that they can toss these things back and forth, fit equally to the left as to the right-- that any one thing of theirs isn't separate from the other. JJ had told him once he wished he had Yuri's talent when they were younger, though he phrased it more like he wanted to be Yuri, wanted to know what it felt like to live inside of him. He was dopey and philosophical at the time, tipsy off of expensive champagne, his bow-tie still barely hanging onto his neck.  
  
"You love yourself too much to want to be me," he'd said at the time.  
  
JJ's smile was radiant, eyes wet and unfocused, swimming with uncontained emotion.  
  
"But I'd love myself even more if I were you," he'd said.  
  
Yuri has grown into the length of his limbs a little more over the years. JJ even fits into some of his t-shirts, which is evident when Yuri wakes up to find JJ cooking them breakfast with his favorite gold embossed tiger shirt stretched across the breadth of his shoulders.  
  
There's so much more leeway given now. Yuri allows JJ to wear his clothes, or to shower him with his ridiculous brand of overwhelming affection. It's not like it doesn't go both ways. Yuri has almost an entire drawer of his wardrobe at home dedicated to JJ Style, a mix of t-shirts, leggings, and a lush, silk Letterman jacket embroidered with JJ's initials. He never wears that one out, but it's probably his favorite piece. 

He even lets JJ attempt to braid his hair while they watch some dramatic French film with English subtitles that disappear too quickly to fully take in. The sun is out today, the air crisp and cool, but Yuri had tugged at the frayed hem of JJ's sweatpants and begged to stay indoors. The braid turns into more of an artful knot, and Yuri realizes he brought this on himself, takes full responsibility for the mess he's become.  
  
They go to a bar later that night after JJ convinces him they won't stay out for long. It's closer to the city, warm with a fireplace and dim lighting. JJ drinks a ridiculous sugary cocktail, and forces Yuri to try poutine, as if he isnt already aware of what it is -- carbs and fat. Still, he picks delicately at it, shaking some of the gravy clumps off the pieces he chooses, and tries not to smile everytime JJ grins and stares at him, so openly in love it makes Yuri feel a little embarrassed for him again.  
  
JJ has absolutely no shame, and while Yuri isn't exactly self-conscious, he still shies away from it on instinct. He's getting better at it, but it's a work in progress. He still flinches whenever JJ holds his hand in public, but tightens his grip once he's over the shock; his breath still hitches with nerves whenever JJ rests his arm around his shoulders, kisses his temple as they walk, but eventually the weight of him becomes a comfort.  
  
Yuri has a minor moment of panic later that night, JJ passed out on his chest, his body still wet and open from earlier, exhaustion making him heavy. He can't explain why he's here, doesn't have any pressing motive for this trip. He's never done things on a whim, never not had a reason for pushing himself into things that scare him. The shorn sides of JJ's hair feel rough against the curve of his shoulder, and Yuri might have the beginnings of beard burn on his neck and his stomach from JJ turning into caveman and refusing to shave while he's here. They've done nothing but fuck and eat in this house, only leaving on the off occasion they both feel like skating at the rickety old rink, or whenever JJ feels the need to show him off to the locals. They immediately took to Yuri, which felt odd at the time.  
  
"He's pretty," one of the more matronly bartenders had said, leaning over the counter, which had irritated Yuri, until she tilted her head towards JJ. "Isn't he?"  
  
Yuri smirked, had half of a mind to say, "You should see him when I fuck the come out of him", but settled for a coy smile towards the object of his affection, running his hand possessively down the back of his head. "Of course," he'd said.  
  
And because he allows bouts of pessimism unrelated to skating, he wonders: how many other people has that bartender pushed the same question onto? Who will be the next to rake their nails down the back of his neck like that, eliciting shivers? JJ says long distance relationships aren't as hard as people make them seem, and it isn't like they don't see each other at every competition. They can afford to make the trips back and forth, they can do this, "We can do this, please babe, don't".  
  
Yuri doesn't mention the strenuous practice time he can't afford to take breaks from, or the fact that while they can afford the trips now, they might not be able to in the future. It's the unknown that scares him, but that fear would more than likely be present no matter where they lived in relation to each other.  
  
When this all started Yuri had assumed it was meant to be for a single night, or a weekend if they were going by the schedule of the competition. Three days in Budapest, and then back to Russia for a month. Yuri hadn't thought much of it at the time. Giving into JJ's increasingly persistent advances felt inevitable. Chases can only last for so long before the hunter gives up.  
  
He'd been sweeter than Yuri had expected, almost shy when they were alone. Yuri enjoyed the power he held over him, nothing to do with skating this time. 

"Fuck me," he'd said into JJ's mouth, tearing open his shirt, heart thudding heavily at the way he'd whimpered in response. It was hasty and messy, but airily light and casual once the desperation sunk into a more low-simmering heat. It's why he'd expected it to be a one-off, the simplicity of it, when really it was just JJ-- easy to enjoy, uncomplicated, the indulgent laughter pressed into the warm skin of his neck. There was, and still is, something tantalizingly freeing about it.  
  
He hadn't expected it to last, but was quietly thankful it had.

 

 

  
  
JJ does see him off at the airport this time when he goes. Yuri is firmly against excessive public affection, and he isn't afraid to say it, so JJ promises to keep his distance, says he just wants to be there, wants this to last down to the very last possible second. It takes a moment for that to really click-- that 'this' is just having Yuri with him, knowing he's there.  
  
They pause awkwardly before the security line, and Yuri steps close enough to make it known that he wants to be kissed. His head feels light, dizzy in an unpleasant way, mouth trembling as JJ presses soft, chaste kisses and holds either side of his neck.  
  
It's so infuriatingly sudden, the way it pulls a reaction from him. Yuri's throat ties up into a big, ugly knot and he feels so unbelievably stupid when his eyes begin to fill with tears against his will. Anger hits him-- at himself, at JJ, at their situation. It takes a second for JJ to notice and then he suddenly pulls him tight, gripping the back of his head.  
  
"Crisse, mon minou," he says, continuing to mutter his concerns in low, almost brutish sounding French.  
  
He kisses beneath each of Yuri's eyes, smiling sadly when Yuri pushes him away with a frustrated grunt. That knot in his throat won't unravel, and JJ isn't helping.  
  
It hurts him not to look at JJ as he makes his way through the winding line. He knows JJ is there, but he can't cry anymore, refuses to let himself look weak to the people around him that have no idea how much this is ruining him. It hurts even more because he knows JJ wants him to turn, wants that last dramatic and distant goodbye, the romantic movie ending. But Yuri can't give it to him without breaking down again, and he's got too much travel ahead of him to be so pathetically miserable through.  
  
Yuri sits at the gate, toying with his phone. He opens up the long running text he has with JJ, types 'i love you i love you i love you i love you' but never sends it, deletes it always after a few lines. Once his boarding group is called, he sends only one.  
  
'Leaving now. Miss you xx'  
  
he shuts off his phone for now, fearing the reply, not willing to deal with these emotions until he's had at least one drink in him on the flight.  
  
By the time he reaches Frankfurt he reluctantly switches his phone back on, chewing on his lip and anticipating a second wave of frustratingly difficult to control emotions. What he gets is a slew of text messages, most with an obnoxious amount of emojis, even one with a topless selfie and a tacky slew of little eggplants beneath it. It makes Yuri laugh, JJ's ridiculous optimism a balm that soothes the ache.  
  
In reality Yuri knows what it is JJ's doing. It's his own version of deflecting-- where Yuri shuts off, JJ goes full blast. And maybe for JJ it works. Maybe tossing his love at a brick wall is what he needs to cope with it, like it somehow makes it easier to keep himself open. Yuri's heartbeat feels sluggish and heavy, but he needed this in turn.  
  
It won't be long either. Bulgaria in October, Moscow in November. Yuri isn't one for baseless optimism, doesn't like to put hope in things he isn't absolutely sure of, but it's somewhat alarming to realize that this is bigger than that.

They can make it work.


End file.
